


False Idols

by cathrheas



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/F, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Public Sex, Religion Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-13
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:01:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25235860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathrheas/pseuds/cathrheas
Summary: What is worship to a saint who is never seen?
Relationships: Catherine/Flayn (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 33





	False Idols

**Author's Note:**

> Happy birthday, Flayn~!
> 
> Feel free to check out [my Twitter](https://twitter.com/cathrheas)!

They’d done it in better places than an old crumbling wall in the back of the cathedral, like a bed, or the sauna. And yet, Flayn couldn’t think of a better place to be worshipped. The nook of the cathedral they’d found was empty of torches or lamps, with shadows to conceal them; there was a breeze coming in from the open doors, which tickled her every time Catherine pulled away; and, most importantly, Flayn could hear so many voices, praising her, singing her name.

“They might as well be heretics,” she whispered.

Catherine laughed into her. Flayn would have complained about how nonchalant she was, if the vibration hadn’t felt so nice. She pulled away, looking up at Flayn from beneath the frills of her dress. “They don’t even know who they’re worshipping, do they?”

“Bold of you to call it worship.”

“Don’t be so cranky, Cethleann.” _Ah._ She’d never heard her name in such a context, before she met Catherine. She’d heard it spoken fondly, with love, even, but never in the throes of pleasure. “All these people came here to praise you.”

“No, they did not.” Flayn didn’t want to argue too much—really, she couldn’t, her mind was going a bit foggy. “They came to worship Saint Cethleann, who might as well be a figment of their imagination at this point. These same people think me an ignorant child.”

“I don’t.” Catherine kissed her clit, a gesture that Flayn hadn’t expected to find so romantic.

“I know you do not.”

“Aren’t you happy, then?”

Catherine seemed to be done talking, her mouth returning to Flayn, languid and hot. Flayn slouched further against the wall. It was hard to stay upright, but Catherine was holding the back of her legs, keeping her close. “Of course I am _happy,_ ” she said, the lilt in her voice both because of pleasure and doubt. “But I would not object to more direct worship from others. After all, I—I was a saint, just like Father, and Rhea, and my uncles. To walk among these people as myself, and hear them sing praises to me...would that be much to ask?”

It might have been; Catherine didn’t respond. For Flayn, though, it was a dream come true. Living in hiding was difficult enough, but it was even harder on Saint Cethleann Day, when people wished her a happy birthday in passing before coming to the cathedral to pray to Saint Cethleann. Admittedly, looking at the hordes of people got her excited. What would it have been like, to have them look at her like they looked at statuettes that merely bore a resemblance to her?

Catherine was happy to indulge that fantasy, especially on that day. She moved differently, then; normally she was in a hurry, but even though they could have easily been caught, Catherine was taking her time. Her hands lavished attention on every part of Flayn that they could reach, even over her clothes. From her ankles to her calves, up past her thighs and onto her hips, gently squeezing her chest.

“Saint Cethleann...”

She had been hearing that name all day, but it hadn’t been directed at her until she was alone with Catherine. It was a sigh, a relinquishing sigh. 

“Just like that,” Flayn said, her hand tangled in Catherine’s hair. “Worship me.”

“They’re singing for you,” Catherine insisted. “All of these people—whether they know it or not—they’re here to praise _you_.”

“Yet, none are as dedicated as you. If only I could have hundreds of you,” Flayn wondered. At first, she wondered if a slip of the tongue like that would leave Catherine upset; she knew very well that Catherine could be overprotective. Instead, Catherine spurred her on, latching onto Flayn’s clit, urging her to keep speaking. “If only I could have this attention every day, again and again, from all of these believers who think themselves loyal to me. To have them call my name as you do, with such...such devotion.”

“Then I’d worship you alongside them. Just for the chance to get your attention. Would you like that?”

Did Catherine even need to ask? Flayn knew she was selfish, but she would have killed for that. To be seen as something more than a petulant child, to have people vying for her attention. She could understand, then, the zealots who’d kill or be killed for their prophets and gods. A Saint was nowhere near the Goddess in terms of acclaim, but Flayn liked to imagine it that way.

“You would still be my favorite. Even if I—if I were to let them watch us, only to make them jealous of how devoted you are to me, and how I reward you in return,” Flayn choked out. She was deep into her fantasy then, and Catherine let her entertain it. 

Flayn found it easier to shut her eyes; that way, she could imagine that they weren’t hidden away, that they were instead at the forefront of the cathedral. Catherine would service her in front of all of her worshippers, reminding them how ethereal and untouchable she was. 

“You’d want them to watch us? Hm,” Catherine said, breathless from her efforts. Again, Flayn considered backtracking, thinking she went too far. But Catherine was doing all but complaining. Although she seemed reluctant to pull away from Flayn even for a moment, she still responded, “I’d like that...watching everyone beg for you, but still having you all to myself...”

  
  


As if Catherine couldn’t stand to wait another second, her lips were back on Flayn. Flayn cried out, certainly loud enough to get them caught if it weren’t for the singing voices in the cathedral. It was funny, almost, how they were worshipping a saint who was committing what was surely a sin a few feet away.

_So close, but so far...if only they could see me._

The hymn was coming to a slow conclusion; Flayn knew this one by heart. She urged Catherine closer, reeling her in by her ponytail, and Catherine responded accordingly, digging in deeper and moving her tongue against Flayn’s walls. The voices grew louder, fervent to Flayn’s needy ears, until they were drowned out by the beating of her heart.

As the song came to a close and Flayn met her peak, she put a hand over her mouth, muffling herself. After all, silent prayers tended to follow the joyful singing, and despite her fantasies, she couldn’t risk being caught. Catherine followed through, still holding Flayn fast to the wall as she worked Flayn over. Flayn kept moaning into her hand, her grip on Catherine’s ponytail growing unsteady.

The voices died down. Flayn was going to ask Catherine to stop, but Catherine figured it out on her own, lifting her head and looking up at Flayn with wet lips and messy hair. 

“Should we...?”

“Leave? Yes.”

“You read my mind,” Catherine said, chuckling. She licked her lips once, then twice, then once more, before standing up. How tall could one woman be...? “Seteth will probably be looking for you. Whether you enjoy the celebrations or not, he’s definitely expecting you to be there.”

Flayn reached up, taking Catherine’s flushed cheek in her palm. “Come with me, then. You said you wanted me all to yourself, right?”

“I did, didn’t I? Well, even if I didn’t, I’d still be following behind you.” Flayn was satisfied with that answer, releasing Catherine’s cheek and smoothing down her skirts. If Seteth hadn’t insisted upon her wearing something nice, she’d have worn something with easier access. Once she’d finished, Catherine reached out a hand, taking a bow. “Well, Lady Cethleann...let’s go face your followers.”


End file.
